


Who Tells Your Story?

by InitialA



Series: Nightminds: Children of Darkness [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Siblings, Aunts & Uncles, Babies, Gen, Kangaroo Care, NICU, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And perhaps this is why he felt such unease upon his entry into this room: it's cruel that a person so new to this world should have to fight so hard to live in it.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>March 11, 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Tells Your Story?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wildfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461915) by [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina). 



> The baby is here! And there's been a few complications. Here's some Hooked Queen siblings feels (with bonus Hooked Jewel Queen) and some Captain Swan fluff and a lot of uncle!Killian feels.
> 
> Like, I made myself tear up over this at a few points, I don't know what I'll do when Tina writes this in the real 'verse.

The last time he felt this way, his brother lay dying in his arms. The last time he felt this way, he stripped his country's uniform from his body and sent it to the bottom of the sea, he raised the crimson flag, he went to war against his sister's husband.

He needs to move, he needs to do _something_ , he needs to _fight_ -

But there is no fighting this. This is a battle he cannot win, a battle he cannot help her with, a battle in which only magic and pure determination can triumph. He feels helpless and trapped, he feels as if he cannot breathe, he feels like a lost boy in such a way that he hasn't felt in many a year.

He needs to move. The world will dissolve into flames if he stops moving.

Pacing helps. Pacing allows him to think rationally, lets him believe he's doing something rather than sitting with his thumb up his arse, keeps the old demons and darkness from catching up with him. If he stops, they'll catch him, pull him under like a rip tide and drown him in the misery of memory and loss. If he stops…. If _she_ stops…

"Killian."

Emma's voice is soft, laced with concern. She'd gone out a bit ago to ask someone - anyone - for an update, any sort of information they could give her about what's been going on. Where he'd been frozen in his initial panic - the memory of losing Liam heavy on his mind and freezing his limbs - she'd gone into action. She hadn't terrorized the hospital staff - not like Regina would were their positions switched - but she'd reminded them why she was the Savior and why she was a force to be reckoned with.

When he looks to her now, there's a small smile on her face. He supposes she's meaning it to be reassuring, but this is Emma and he knows her. Her eyes betray the smile for the facade that it is, her green eyes full of worry and hesitance and a bit of fear. She holds out her hand for him. "Come on, I want you to meet someone."

His heart lurches. Her tone should be one of joy at such an occasion - but this is Emma, _his_ Emma, and he knows her moods and emotions as well as his own. If she's wary, worried, it's enough to set him further on edge.

Her fingers curl around his, squeezing them in a way he believes is meant to be reassuring, and allows her to guide him down the hall, through the maze of the hospital. Somewhere at the end of this maze is his niece, but he's not entirely prepared to reach that point. If he reaches the end, he'll have to stop moving and if he stops moving… If _she_ stops…

The hospital walls turn from plain to bright and cheery, signifying that they're entering the children's wing. He's seen the nursery before, the window that shows all the newborn babes of Storybrooke to any and all who wish to look upon them; this was after the first unfortunate incident involving an innocent life, after his _other_ sister attempted to wipe them all from the annals of history by stealing Prince Neal.

Killian wonders if perhaps it might be better for the denizens of Storybrooke to stop producing offspring if this sort of thing keeps happening.

But Emma leads him past the nursery, down another corridor, and finally stops at a door. She squeezes his hand again and the tight smile on her lips makes him wonder if she's trying to reassure him or herself. "Just one thing -" She twists her hand, her fingers curling in towards her palm. White smoke coils around his hook, revealing his wooden hand when it clears. "Just to be safe," she says with a more genuine smile, then knocks.

They have to stop and wash their hands first; Emma assists him there, leaving both of their jackets on hooks and rolling his sleeves up, washing his hand with hers. They proceed to outfit themselves with smocks over their regular attire, but even after all of that he's unprepared for what comes next.

The world on the other side of the door is filled with whirring machines, mechanical beeps, and soft human voices - adult words and baby cries. Some areas are sectioned off with blue curtains for privacy, others are left open for anyone in the room to see. There are several clear cradles lining both sides of the room; most of them are empty but a few hold very small infants. "Swan?" Killian asks, his voice hardly audible to his own ears. He stares at the room with wide, uncertain eyes, his breathing shallow and coming quick.

He doesn't know why this place fills him with such unease, but it's certainly not helping his nerves.

He feels her squeeze his hand again, her touch calming as if she feels his unease. "This is where babies go when they're sick or they're born early," Emma explains softly as she guides him down to the other side of the room. "They get the best care so they have… so they can have their best chance."

He glances at her and her face is closed off, as if she's recalling some unhappy memory. It's rare that he cannot tell what she's thinking, but he thinks that perhaps in this case it might be best; she would share if she felt it necessary for him to know. It's his turn to give her hand a reassuring squeeze and she flashes him a quick smile. "Robin is with Regina and he's - he's worried about too much, so I thought we could stay in here and keep an eye on things."

She stops in front of the last clear cradle, nearest the row of high windows in the back of the room, and it quickly becomes clear what _things_ they're to keep an eye on.

Killian's breath catches in his throat, emotions rolling through him faster than he can name them. She's _here_ , tiny and thin, dwarfed by the white knitted cap on her head and the large diaper covering her lower body. There are tubes and wires taped to her red skin, tubes and wires that run out the sides of the cradle to machines that tell him nothing he understands, but she's _here_ and she's _perfect_. "She looks like Regina," he whispers, his voice breaking over his sister's name, and Emma runs her fingers up and down his arm soothingly, never releasing his hand from her tight grip.

There are voices and he vaguely realizes they must be doctors and nurses, but he's entirely too focused on the little girl in the cradle before him. He's never loved Emma more than this moment when she releases him and handles the talking. All he's capable of doing is sitting in the cushioned chair next to the cradle and staring at this little person - his _family_ \- who has been at the center of such turmoil for so long. Emma's voice fades into a pleasant background hum as Killian watches his niece stretch her thin legs, her tiny feet lashing out at invisible enemies, her little hands flapping about as she wriggles into a more comfortable position. He doesn't know whether to laugh because she's _here_ and _whole_ , or to weep because her mother - his _sister_ \- isn't here, she's somewhere else in this maze of a hospital fighting for her life. "She - she should be here," he says softly, his voice breaking once more.

"I know," Emma says. He presumes the medical staff have left them, if she's conversing with him again. She plays with his hair, runs her fingers along his shoulders soothingly, all little gestures and touches he would normally revel in, but he can't focus on such simple pleasures right now. "She will be, though. She's just as stubborn as you are."

Killian does laugh at that and it is a broken thing. He inhales deeply, trying to mask a sniffle; a gentle caress on his cheek says he failed there too. "She's so… small," he says, watching his niece yawn.

He hears Emma's light giggle and then she's crouching next to him, taking his hand in hers. "Here. Say hello," Emma tells him and leads his hand into the cradle through a circle cut into the side.

Killian tenses and she must feel it, because Emma runs her fingers down his arm again. "Hey, it's okay. You won't hurt her."

He looks at her and her smile is encouraging. "You're sure?"

"Positive. It's good for her, actually."

Hesitantly, Killian reaches into the cradle, nudging one very small hand with his finger. Almost instantly, tiny fingers cling to his large one with a grip that is almost astonishingly strong for someone so small. "Seven hells," Killian breathes, a feeling like hope swelling in his chest. "She'll be a blacksmith someday for certain. Hello, little love."

She makes a noise, her face scrunching up briefly while her free arm flails. Her feet kick out for a moment just as she yawns and he feels as if his heart might burst with love. He blinks back tears and swallows a lump in his throat; he's known her for five whole minutes and he already knows he would do absolutely anything for this child.

He's not sure how long they stay like this, his finger caught in her grip. He knows at some point Emma sits on the floor because her head rests against his leg as she watches him brush his thumb gently over his niece's impossibly small fingers - truly, who knew humans could be so small?

Occasionally there are furious flurries of activity around other cradles, words he knows but doesn't comprehend being ordered by the medical teams, signs of relief when the noises from the machines return to normal paces. And perhaps this is why he felt such unease upon his entry into this room: it's cruel that a person so new to this world should have to fight so hard to live in it.

The more he looks at his niece, the more he can see parts of his sister and her consort. Regina's chin with Robin's nose. The little scrunch of her face, the way her eyebrows come together and the delicate frown are definitely Regina as well. The long fingers might come from either parent, but Killian doesn't doubt she'll be just as deft with a bow as she will be with magic.

"I think she likes you," Emma whispers after a while, not lifting her head from its perch on his leg.

"What's not to like?" Killian retorts softly, but there's no heat to it and Emma giggles. "Not getting any ideas, are you, love?"

She hums and it's the tone she gets when she's about to call him 'buddy' in sarcasm, so he takes that as a _no_. They've barely broached the subject in the past, but it's been on his mind for some time now; albeit during the quiet days of winter when she'd used him as a pillow on the couch in their apartment, empty cocoa mugs on the coffee table and Henry doing homework in the kitchen, and he'd thought he wouldn't mind spending every day of the rest of their lives like this.

So he just chuckles quietly and lets the subject drop - it's not as if they aren't busy enough as things stand.

The door at the other end of the room opens suddenly; Killian and Emma look over in unison and see that it's Robin, looking haggard and out of breath. "Emma," he says, gasping as he jogs over to them, ignoring the protests from the hospital staff. Emma scrambles to get to her feet. "Emma it's Regina, we need - she needs - light magic, something with -"

"Hey, whoa, just take a second and breathe," Emma says, gripping his shoulders. "You need magic?"

Robin nods, too out of breath to speak, and Emma glances back. Killian's tense again, his own breathing difficult to maintain at the moment; his niece fusses, as if sensing her uncle's unease and voicing her agreement. "Go. Keep her safe," he says.

Emma comes to him and brushes a kiss over his lips, resting her forehead against his briefly. "You too," she tells him softly and glances meaningfully at the baby.

She turns to go. He catches Robin's eye and they nod in unison: Robin knows he'll keep the child safe.

The light changes outside, the sunset throwing oranges and pinks across the room; Emma doesn't return even as the moon rises and the medical staff changes shifts. Killian doesn't know who his worries should rest on most - his love, his sister, or his niece - and supposes he understands Robin's dilemma a bit more. One of the nurses comes over at some point, long past when his arse has gone numb from sitting for too long - he'll be damned if he moves from this spot though. "Did you want to hold her, captain?" the nurse asks kindly.

Killian's brows knit in confusion. Surely he must be tired for his imagination to be running wild; she's wrapped up in tubes and wires and surely too small for this nurse to consider such things. "Pardon?"

The nurse smiles, understanding. "I know, it seems odd when you think where we're from and how we handled sick babies back home. But she might do better with family than with just the machines here; skin-to-skin contact has proven to do some wonderful things in helping sick babies get better." The nurse moves, quick fingers checking the baby over and quicker eyes scanning the machines. "She's okay right now, but her monitors here -" She points to two of them and he'll be arsed if he knows what they mean. "Her breathing could be better and her heartbeat gets a little irregular sometimes. It's not overly concerning, but if we're right in suspecting the connection between her and Ms. Mills…"

He might not understand the machines and the medicine behind all of it, but he knows danger when he hears it. "It could get worse," Killian finishes, feeling his own heart sink. She nods and then he does as well. "Aye. Let's have her up then."

It's more complicated than he expects, most bizarrely when the nurse tells him he needs to change out of his shirt and waistcoat and back into the hospital smock - a year ago he would have flirted, teasingly accusing her of wanting to ogle.

A year ago there was hardly Emma in his life, holding him at arm's length and fighting their feelings for one another.

A year ago his sister wasn't dying from some magical malady, her daughter in the same mortal peril.

He settles in a more comfortable chair, this one plush with the ability to rock. The smock is larger without his other clothes, easily able to cover the babe and ward off the chill after the nurse places her against his bare chest. His heart swells again, feeling those tiny fingers reaching for anything to grip; she finally settles on the chains he wears around his neck, tugging slightly. She wriggles under his hand, tiny grunting sounds escaping from the gap left in the smock to allow her to breathe. "You're a fighter already, aren't you little one?" he murmurs.

He rocks in the chair, trying to be gentle, trying to remember _anything_ of the scant knowledge of babies he's acquired in his years. Until Emma's brother, he's been around relatively few babies in his adult life, and as the youngest child he had no contact with babies in his youth. Mother had dismissed many of the female servants if they'd fallen pregnant, leaving he, Liam, and Regina with few options for playmates except each other. He'd figured that to be Mother's plan years ago, forcing them to rely only on each other and be suspicious of any outsiders.

Some days he wishes her plan hadn't worked so well.

The thought of Liam almost knocks the wind out of him - he should be here. Liam should be here to meet his niece and Regina should properly meet her daughter; the three of them seem to be cursed to suffer cruel fates. "I'm sorry, little love," Killian murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "You should have been greeted properly, with your parents and your uncle Liam, but I'm afraid you'll have to settle for just me." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "The nice lass with me earlier, though, that's your aunt Emma. Though we'll keep that between us for now, aye? She's skittish as a filly, your aunt, and twice as stubborn as a mule. We'll let her decide when to call herself that."

The room is quiet, save for the machines connected to the other infants in the room. It's almost an unnatural quiet, one he feels he should fill - he supposes talking wouldn't hurt anyone. Letting the girl-child hear a familiar voice could give her comfort. The gods only knew how often he and Regina had bickered over the last few months; and if the incident in February with the babe's magic is any indication, she already knows his voice.

Killian rocks, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his niece's back. "We've had some hard times, our family. There's a lot I suppose we shouldn't tell you, I suspect your mother would like us to wait until you're a bit older. But it's a good story, little love." She quiets as he talks; he can feel her little heart beating rapidly against his chest, the quick breaths she takes even as she falls asleep to the sound of his voice. "There's evil queens and saviors, thieves and princes, princesses and dashing pirates. That's me in the last bit, don't let your mum tell you otherwise."

He lets his head fall back, not quite tired himself but ready to let himself relax just a bit. "It hurt to live through, I'll grant you that, but it's given us so much love - and as much as your mother resists the word, it's given us a lot of hope too. We _survived_ it, lass, just as you will. We're a family of survivors, little love. It's what we do, as best we can. It's a bit of a hefty expectation to live up to, but I believe in you. Your mum too."

His voice catches again, and this time he doesn't fight it when a few tears fall. "You're all I have left, you two. Your grandparents, your Uncle Liam… Zelena, too, I suppose, they've all gone and left us behind. Their stories are done. So you both have to survive, you and your mum. And I suppose that makes me a right selfish bastard, but your mother would tell you I'm nothing more than a pirate. I come by selfishness honestly, lass, and if the desire to keep what's left of my family together is selfish..."

Killian pauses, words unwilling to form through the sudden tightness in his throat; he swallows past it and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He looks down at the sleeping child nestled against his chest, her little brow scrunched up in a frown even in sleep and her littler nose pressed against his skin. Yes, he's a right selfish bastard for wanting to keep this -- his family, tumultuous as his relationship with his sister often is -- but this is one instance where he thinks he can live with such selfishness. He traces a finger down his niece's back, praying to whatever gods are listening that Regina pulls through, that Emma succeeds, that he might be allowed to have more of these quiet moments with his family.

When he finds his voice again, it's as soft as if he were offering prayers aloud in a chapel. "You've just gotten here, little love. There's so much of your story left to tell."


End file.
